


Cycles

by CorsetJinx



Series: We never asked to be heroes [9]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Artistic Liberties, Character Death, Gen, Magic Meta, Male-Female Friendship, Reincarnation, Saving the World, Spoilers for DRK questline, Time Loop, siding with the enemy, some dialogue taken from the game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-17
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2019-03-06 04:55:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13403901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CorsetJinx/pseuds/CorsetJinx
Summary: This is the way it all ends. This is how the journey comes to a close. In misery. In death.





	Cycles

M'arach stares, numb and drained, watching as the unbearable light growing around Shinryu deepens. Around him, the group has already fallen. Anemone lies in a crumpled heap at the edge of a frail crystal platform, grimoire lost. Hassan dissolved after she’d collapsed - winking from sight with barely a sound.

Isolde still clutches her sword in death. He thinks the look on her face might be one of surprise or fury, but the graying edges of his vision don’t allow him much. Maya lies not far from her, bow snapped in twain and useless. Towards the center of this conjured battlefield is Howl - limbs sprawling and coat singed, the wild hum of his aether no more.

M'arach can’t bring himself to look at Luli. Not the way she is now, just barely out of Howl’s reach. He’d rather remember her as she was - not what the madman in a dragon’s body reduced her to.

He doesn’t know where Simone or Jordine are. A dull, broken part of him suspects they might have fallen off the platform and into the churning aether below. M'arach isn’t sure if they survived, but he hopes that they didn’t have to see the others.

Shinryu’s maw opens wider, the aether maddening in its frenzied humming.

He has no magic left, no miracles to call on stored in his star globe and its cards. If there is something that can come out of this, he hopes that Lyse and the Scions will forgive him for not being strong enough to make a difference.

_I’m sorry._

* * *

Ifrit’s inferno reaches them before any protective magic can take hold. Isolde staggers to her feet amidst choking flames and soot, eyes streaming. Maya avoids enough of the blast to do the same, her silvery scales turned dark grey.

Simone is distraught, hunkered down over Anemone’s still form. She shrieks, launches herself at the snarling primal, and M'arach dies under the impact of a flame-cloaked hand.

Dusk wakes from a cold sweat in Ishgard with a weight in his chest, uncertain why the sound of a woman crying repeats itself in his head.

He never leaves the frozen city, and meets his end under the inquisitor’s flame.

 

* * *

Howl’s magic consumes him in the depths of Titan’s lair, leaving behind a husk. 

Luli, inconsolable, won’t speak a word as the primal falls. She is alone - sword broken and shield lost, the remains of the group wiped away into dust by the strength of Howl’s spell.

The Scions never see her again.

* * *

They have lost Thancred. Womanizing, nosy, oddly _well-meaning_ Thancred. 

Someone else wears his face, speaks in his voice and sows discord among the Scions. Magic older and more terrifying than the darkest of a thaumatarge’s spells consumes most of them, shattering M'arach’s star globe into fragments that glitter when he tries to redirect the flow of volatile aether.

In the dark, some part of Thancred roils with grief.

* * *

Anemone loses herself in Bahamut’s fury, cloaked in the dragon-god’s aether and a facsimile of his scales. There is no sense in her eyes anymore as she throws herself at the enemy, Simone’s battered corpse left behind where she’d fallen. 

Hassan trails after her, larger than ever, _feral_ as he joins his summoner in tearing Garlean soldiers apart.

* * *

Isolde leaves them in Ishgard and does not come back. Maya goes her own way, her skill as a headhunter more than sufficient to see her through the building chaos taking over Eorzea. Howl and Luli stay up late into the night high above the Cloudsea. By morning, they are gone.

Dusk falls beneath the Nidhogg’s charge. Jordine is flung off the massive bridge and is not seen again. M'arach, Anemone, and Simone manage to wrest Nidhogg’s eyes from Estinien’s armor.

The wyrm’s hate buries itself in M'arach’s mind, and before he can be less than himself he asks for Anemone to finish him.

* * *

Anemone never reaches Ul'dah. Her body is left for carrion in the vastness of the Steppe, her horns and tail taken as trophies by hunters who prey on solitary au ri who leave their tribes.

Simone waits. And waits.

* * *

Nanamo collapses at the banquet, dead to the world and, as far as they know, to them.

Only Alphinaud makes it out of the city that night.

* * *

M'arach huddles over Ysayle, magic pouring between his palms, vision swimming. She is cold. Colder than the ice of Saint Shiva, her goddess. No matter how many times he casts the magic will not take hold.

_I’m sorry. I’m sorry._ He says.

* * *

Zephirin’s spear flies, white-hot and crackling with magic. Haurchefant turns, prepared to take the blow, and stumbles as he is shoved aside.

The sound of the collision between the Just’s spear and Dusk’s magic is sharp - painful to the ears. Dark aether pools and hisses at the primal-blessed magic, furious and seemingly all-consuming.

It fails. Dusk staggers, a curious sort of peace on his face as he falls.

Anemone adds her magic to M'arach’s, desperate to close the awful wound. The Archbishop and the Heaven’s Ward retreat, leaving them to crowd around their comrade.

Alphinaud digs into his pockets for potions, Aymeric hobbling to join their frightened circle.

Dusk only smiles, his crystal winking out.

_You’ll need a proper knight to see you through, not me._ He says.

* * *

There is no time to really _do_ anything. Dragons are running amok in the Brume, the Temple Knights doing all that they can to repel them. Buildings are burning, people are screaming - Howl is calling out for Luli above the din and no one can find her.

At last they do, though the joy is brief. She’s defending a mother and her two children by the burning Shoe - hair a singed, tumbling mess around her head and blood trickling down the side of her face.

The mother and her children are able to escape, but a dragon’s claws catch Luli off guard. Her eyes widen as she falls, sword and shield useless in her nerveless hands.

Howl’s fury consumes all of Ishgard. In a single spell there is nothing left but a hideous chasm - aether too thick and corrupted to allow any habitation.

* * *

Midgardsomr watches them fall, unsurprised, and perhaps, a little disappointed. It is not the first time, he senses. There will be more fates like this one - with Hydaelyn’s Chosen overcome by forces they cannot control or hope to match.

He remains, as he always has. Since time immemorial he watches, waiting. 

When they come again - _the same faces, bearing names he can no longer forget even should he wish to_ \- he gives them the same warning, even if they themselves do not remember.

Their answer remains the same. He strips Hydaelyn’s blessing from each of them and does not allow himself to prematurely hope this time.

* * *

“What dost thou expect to find here?” Midgardsomr stretched out his claws, tail lifting behind him. The blanket dipped under his weight, showing off new furrows where he disturbed it as he circled around to her other side. “This place - Thou believe it to be sanctuary still? After all that has happened?”

Anemone unclasped the ornament in her hair, weight of the pretty thing negligible. The metal gleamed in the firelight, pleasantly distracting. Rather than answer the ancient dragon directly she asked, “Do you know why Hassan is the size that he is?”

Midgardsomr’s eyes narrowed, displeasure evident in the way his tail lashed. “That aetherial toy thou callest upon for aid? What of it?”

“It serves a purpose, you see.” Setting the trinket on the bedside table she reached for the comb beside the lamp, carefully drawing it through her hair. One corner of her mouth rose, though the half-smile held a degree of wistfulness. “Much like your grumblings of despair, betrayal and death.”

A dry coughing sound that might have been a laugh emerged from him as he finally stepped into her peripheral vision. Curling his wings close to his body, Midgardsomr made her pillow into a little nest for himself. Thinly slitted eyes stared up at her in resigned expectation, his forelegs neatly crossed before him.

“Go on then.” He sighed. “I know the sense of a tale waiting to be told. Let us see if thou canst move a dragon’s heart with thine words.”

“Well, my disillusioned friend,” Anemone began. “You see…”

* * *

Myste clings tightly to Dusk’s side, eyes wide and fearful despite the assurance that he will not be harmed. There is something about the boy that does not sit right with any of them - though it is difficult at first to put words to the matter. Dusk catches Anemone’s eye over the group’s new foundling’s head, staring until she looks away.

The third soul crystal resonates with his own, tainted with the aether of another. It wasn’t _meant_ for him to take - but he does not think Anemone can safely ward herself against the allure of the abyss. Not now, vulnerable as she is.

So he says nothing about the mix of her aether and his own within the crystal, of how Myste sings with it even if the boy himself is unaware.

* * *

“It’s alright.” M'arach pants, his hands shaking as he holds them over the bodies of his friends. Aether pools between his fingers, sluggish and reluctant. Above him, his star globe whirls, absorbing all that it can and then some. He forces the magic to his will, shutting out the spectral images and voices flickering through his mind. “We can try again.”

_This is not the first time you have seen such come to pass._ The Echo, or perhaps Zodiark, whispers to him. His ears flatten against his skull, tail lashing as he channels healing magic into eight unmoving forms.

He cannot think like this. There’s still time. _**He can fix this.**_

_It will not be the last._ The whispers tell him. Midgardsomr is silent, perhaps even asleep. _You cannot change what has already been done._

_“Yes I can!”_ He shouts, voice ragged. His body betrays him, legs giving out as the last of his magic wraps itself around his fellows. The star globe plummets like a stone, cracking as it strikes earth. His ears are full of a rushing sound, but aetherial exhaustion forces back his panic.

“I can fix this.” M'arach swallows, wiping his eyes furiously. _“We can try again.”_

The aether does not respond to him when he calls to it. His own personal well is dangerously low, overtaxed by battle and the effort of calling to those lost in the void.

_You cannot change what is already done._ Cold finality, nothing more.

He drags himself up and casts again.

_I’m sorry. Gods be good, I’m sorry._

* * *

“I wanted a friend.” Anemone chuckles, setting down her comb at last. “I was adrift in a world most strange when I left my home. The staring was awful. So I took the crystals I could find and bungled my way through a summoning.”

Midgardsomr’s tail twitched, the ancient dragon’s gaze half-lidded. His irises caught and reflected the light in a curious way, similar to her carbuncle’s. She didn’t look at him, lost in the memory of the past.

“I wanted something I could hold onto. Something solid and heavy, like my sister when we used to fall asleep together.” Her wistful smile returned. “Hells if I knew then that it would suck my aether nearly dry, but I got him. My dear Hassan.”

The tip of her tail twitched. “I woke up to him nudging me with his little nose, trying to burrow under me. I rode on his back until we left the borders of the Steppe. He always came when I called, no matter what.”

A huff and some winding trails of smoke left Midgardsomr’s tiny mouth. He looked, and sounded, unimpressed. “Such desires are suitable for hatchlings only. Not a Chosen of Hydaelyn. To what end does a pack animal serve thee?”

“Oh he’s more than just a handy luggage carrier.” Anemone grinned, scooting back to bring her legs up onto the bed. Her tail curved around her as she laid beside Midgardsomr, carefully resting her head on the other pillow.

He turned his long neck to look at her, still unconvinced.

“Had I not been able to find someone I could trust, I might never have left the borders of the East.” Reaching out she lightly ran her nails - almost claws in their own right - over the scales of his neck, scratching gently just above his shoulder. He leaned into it, eyes closing. “I am here now because when I thought of turning back, Hassan would push at my legs until we were on our way again.”

“Ye allow thine own creation to pester thee.” He quipped, folding his wings closer to his body as he relaxed. Her scratching helped.

“I do. Because Hassan occasionally has better sense than I myself do.” Anemone withdrew her hand, tapping Midgardsomr on his snout. He snapped at her finger warningly. “As you are now, would you take your chances with a carbuncle of his size?”

He said nothing, merely expelling another puff of smoke through his nostrils. It was answer enough, for her.

* * *

Jordine was the last of them to stand against Zenos. He glanced between the fallen bodies, cursing to himself as heavy footsteps brought the viceroy closer.

Alphinaud would not be around to see this defeat, the red mage hoped. Perhaps they’d weakened the man enough - bought enough _time…_

Zenos’ shadow spilled over him, making tufted white ears fold down against his skull. The fur on his tail stood up as he glared up into bored, dull eyes. 

The peculiar red blade made little sound as it pierced him through, a soft tut breaking the silence of the menagerie as Jordine collapsed.

* * *

M'arach watches in fever dreams as Anemone stands before a blackened Crystal, considering as the voice of Hydaelyn’s counterpart washes over her. He can’t hear what it - what _Zodiark_ \- says, but it chills his blood nonetheless. The unsettling feeling intensifies as she stretched out her hand, as if to touch the lightless facets of the Crystal.

He wakes with a strangled cry, eyes wet for a reason he can’t name, the fragment of the Mothercrystal burning against his side.

* * *

“I’m sorry.” Myste shrunk in on himself, arms folded tightly around his body. He screwed his eyes shut, looking tiny and lost in the snow around them. “I only wished - I never meant for it all to go so wrong!”

Dusk waited, catching Anemone’s eye. His body ached - _everything_ ached, really. The truth. The weight of the soul crystal around his neck.

Hesitantly, she took a step towards them. Her eyes darted between him and the boy, asking without speaking if what Myste - _what Fray_ \- had revealed was true. When he nodded, too tired for words, she steeled herself and closed the distance between them. 

Myste jumped when her arms encircled him, shaking like a leaf in a gale. Anemone drew her fingers through the shade’s hair - so like Haurchefant’s, like Ysayle’s.

“It’s alright now.” She murmured, feeling a part of herself crack inside. Nothing, she supposed, compared to the surge of suppressed emotion and will that had given Myste his unorthodox birth. “I know you meant well.”

_Things have a way of catching up with you_ , Jordine had said once. He’d meant it sarcastically, she was sure, but it remained frighteningly true in this case.

“I wanted to save them.” Myste’s lips tremble as he says it. “Any that I could.”

Dusk shut his eye, turning his face away. Some part of Fray’s voice snaps, _You didn’t have to drag me along too._ He tells the ghost to be quiet, seeking peace in his mind before he can look at the summoner and the boy again.

“I know.” Anemone holds Myste tightly to herself, the beginnings of a tremor in her voice. “I left you with a whole mess of things. I’m sorry for that.”

“Someone else might have fared worse.” Dusk offers, battered armor creaking as he takes up a spot beside the two of them. Myste nearly smacks himself on Anemone’s horn trying to look up at him, fearful once again. He kneels with a badly hidden wince and sets a hand on Myste’s head.

“That doesn’t mean I was right,” Anemone says tightly. “Running from it all.” She’s fighting with it still, Dusk senses. The loss of friends and trust, the burden of Hydaelyn’s expectations.

He is too. They all are.

“We’re mortal.” He tells them both, gently ruffling Myste’s soft hair. The boy stares, awed and terrified. “We run from what hurts us, until we get mad or strong enough to fight back. There’s only so much we can take.”

Anemone draws in on herself, unconsciously clinging to Myste just as hard as the boy is to her. Fray, his long dead and gone master as well, both sigh - somewhere in the abyss.

“It’s not too late.” Dusk tells them both, because it’s easier to do that than convince himself. “We can do our best to make sure we don’t lose anyone else.”

Some of the light returns to Myste’s eyes. He nods, slowly, as Anemone draws back.

Her face is inscrutable as she tucks some of the boy’s hair behind his ears, but her voice is stronger when she says, “Yes.”

Some of the fire has come back to her as well, Dusk is glad to see. There’s a flicker of the strength he’s come to know her for in the depths of her eyes. Of the woman who’d taken the essence of primals into herself and turned it against those who dared threaten those under her care.

“You will still be hurt.” Myste whispers sadly, his brief hope fading. “There is no way to stop it - not on the path you walk as the Warrior of Light.”

“We’ll handle it.” She tells him, leaning in to kiss his forehead. Dusk nearly smiles at the flustered look on the boy’s face. “Together, we’ll find best outcome for everyone.”

Myste studies her, then Dusk, before sighing. He’s starting to come apart at the edges, like a dream unwinding before their eyes.

_“In your darkest hour, in the blackest night… think of me, and I will be with you. Always. For where else could I go? Who else could I love but you?”_

Anemone’s face twists, but she lets him go. Dusk takes her hand in his instead, silent as their returned aether swirls between them.

* * *

M'arach pays no mind to the looming shadow Elidibus casts, securing the last of his ether potions with silent determination. For his part, the Ascian Emissary remains quiet until the astrologian makes to stand.

“You cannot change what has already been done.” He repeats, voice mild and smooth. There’s a peculiar sort of charm to it - like a stone worn down by a river might have.

M'arach favors him with a backwards glance just for a moment, the brown of his eyes supplanted by shimmering gold. “I know.” Much as it hurts him, he _can’t_ keep running from that fact. He’s tried, and is tired from it. “But,” he counters softly, “I can try my damndest to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

Elidibus doesn’t laugh. Privately, M'arach isn’t certain that the Emissary _can_ express amusement. He simply watches, making no move to stop the Warrior of Light from leaving.

“Do you believe your magic and sight shall be enough for this venture?” Elidibus asks instead. “One cannot escape the will of the One True God.”

M'arach’s tail lashes sharply to the right, a display of temper that’s surprisingly well-contained. He grins at Elidibus over his shoulder, star globe bobbing gently above one hand.

“I can try.”

* * *

“Your prophecy may have come true.” Anemone concedes as she curls an arm around Midgardsomr, pulling the dragon off his perch and against her chest. The resulting hiss was ignored, her other arm trapping him in place. “But you omitted a considerable bit.”

Midgardsomr’s tail thrashed, irritation clear in his voice. “ _Unhand me_ , fool. Thou shall not make mockery of mine self.”

She shushed him, eyes already closed as one of her nails scratched the top of his head. “We found more than tragedy and despair, here. Ishgard has given us friends, sanctuary, allies and… you.”

Anemone punctuated this by kissing his snout, laughing when Midgardsomr jerked back in offense.

“Thou art too sentimental.” He scoffed, easing down into the cradle of her arms. “Mine presence is not a promise of aid to thine journey.”

“But you have proven yourself a kind of friend.” She countered with amusement, smiling as his tail thumped against the bed. Yawning, she tugged the blankets up over them both. “Now go to sleep you cantankerous wyrm. Even you should have sweet dreams once in a while.”

The blankets muffled his scoff, but he laid his head down all the same - closing bemused eyes gratefully. The foolishness of mortals would likely never make sense to him.

* * *

M'arach’s hands move with easy familiarity, weaving and divining spells from the ambient aether around them. There is plenty to be had - no longer is Simone the only source of nigh-unlimited magic present. Shinryu fair _bleeds_ it.

_Draw. Redraw. A card shining between his fingers, the Lord and Lady of Crowns twinkling brightly._

He knows, or has an _idea_ of what’s coming. Of what they need to do. It won’t be an easy battle by any means, but -

_The Royal Road leads down a path marked by the heavens, blessed by opportunity and loss alike. Any fate might be possible, probable, if they but reach for it._

Tri-diaster heralds the opening volley of their group, the chaos of Anemone’s spell and Hassan’s growling lost as Simone hurls herself forward with a war cry. Luli keeps pace with her, eyes narrow and sword ready. Isolde nearly overtakes them, her katana singing.

Howl sucks up the aether around them with a spell, his eye flickering between colors as he casts. Maya’s arrows find their mark as Dusk and Jordine slip into the fray - dark aether and rapier picking up the slack between Simone’s punches, Isolde and Luli’s blades.

An awful cry rings out and M'arach sucks in a breath. Reaching out, he snags the aether pouring from the interdimensional rift and casts. 

_It’s alright. This time, we’ll make it through._

**Author's Note:**

> This was a doozy to write, but I'm glad it's out here now. Some of the original characters mentioned - Howl, Isolde, Maya, Simone - belong to a dear friend. I was given permission to write them, and for that I'm deeply grateful.
> 
> Finally, some seriousness. Unfortunately it's at the cost of all the accumulated "bad ends" that might befall the group. But, where there's a will, there tends to be a way. Gonna try my hand at some fluff after this.


End file.
